


Between Your Heart and Mine, Always

by Illegible_Scribble



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst & Comfort, Family Fluff, Gen, Love Letters, M/M, Merry and Sam being bros, Post-Quest, Samfro Week, Samfro Week Autumn 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 05:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble
Summary: Frodo gives Sam a letter to read on his first outing to help restore the Shire, and on this trip, Merry does what he can to comfort Sam over his parting from Frodo, then gives him something that proves neither time nor death can wholly sever the bonds between us and those we love.





	Between Your Heart and Mine, Always

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Illegible_Scribble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble) in the [SeasonalSamfro_Autumn_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SeasonalSamfro_Autumn_2019) collection. 

> **Prompt:** Distance.
> 
> For Saturday, September 28th.
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful betas [YamBits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamBits) and [acidicgumdrops](https://acidicgumdrops.tumblr.com/).

It had been a long time since Sam had last been in the Eastfarthing, or anyway it felt that way. In truth it had only been a year, or perhaps less than that, when the Travelers had returned from the Quest and found their home in what Sam had thought to himself were near-ruins. They'd tramped out the ruffians well enough, though in time Sam had been persuaded to Frodo's side that it had all, in the end, been a very sad circumstance for everyone involved. Even, Sam begrudgingly admitted, for old Lotho Pimple, Saruman, and Grima Wormtongue.

After all, as Frodo had said, revenge on revenge brings nothing but more revenge. Even if Sharkey had still died, and Grima too, Sam liked to think Frodo still broke that wheel, even if hobbits weren't talking about him or it that much. Lots of folks those few days had gotten all hot-blooded and developed a tooth for vengeance for vengeance's sake, but it was Frodo that helped sooth them, and remind them that though the Battle of Bywater was a victory for the hobbits, there is no joy in the deaths that came about during it, for either side – and the same for Sharkey and Grima, and even Pimple.

_We got back our home_, Sam thought, _but not without cost or pain._ He sighed, and patted Bill's neck goodnight before closing the stall door, and making his way back into the common room of the _Golden Perch_. Pippin had been right, all that time ago, even after the ruffian business; it _did _have the best beer in the Eastfarthing (though Sam's experience in tasting was rather limited).

He had a plate of food and half a pint of ale before heading up to bed, and before he slipped off his coat, he took a now slightly travel-worn envelope from the breast pocket, and turned it over in his hands a few times, considering. _Don't open until you're heartsick_, it read on the front in familiar, flowing script, and beneath it, _Yours always and all my love, Frodo_.

Frodo hadn't been happy when Sam announced he was going away with his box of earth for his forestry work, though bless his heart, he never said a word. He held Sam extra tight at night as they slept in the guest room of the Cottons', and they stayed up talking and holding one another into the small hours of the morning. Sam hadn't wanted to leave him, but there was no one else able to do what Sam could to heal the scars that had been cut into their home.

Frodo, in spite of his pain, knew this very well. The morning Sam set off on Bill, Frodo kissed him in private, and pressed a letter to his heart. “Read it when you can't stand how much you miss me anymore.” he'd murmured.

Sam's eyes were already wet, and his tears fell even faster now. “Then I'm gonna be readin' it the minute you're outta my sight.”

Frodo dried Sam's tears with a kerchief, struggling to smile and not to cry. “You can, if you want. It's your letter. I want it to comfort you when you need it most. You'll come back to me. I'll be here, waiting for you.”

“Aye,” Sam's heart felt so swollen with grief, he thought it was a miracle it didn't burst, “that's not just a promise; t'is the truth.”

“I know.”

Sam held the letter now, considering. He'd only just set off a few days before, and he wasn't sure he was as desperate as Frodo implied he ought to be when he read it. He missed Frodo terribly, and would practically toss Galadriel's box away to the nearest bystander if it meant he could go back home to Frodo _now_, but a gift from the Lady was not discarded, nor was the health of his home.

Sam wiped away an errant tear, and safely tucked the letter back into the pocket nearest his heart.

It had been raining for three straight days in Buckland, and the roads that weren't cobbled – which were most, as it was mainly the towns to pave their streets, and not far beyond – had turned to a thick and sucking mud. Taking a pony out into weather like that would almost seal the promise of a broken leg or worse, and a hobbit on their own on foot would get soaked in a minute, and catch pneumonia the next.

Sam had just made it to Brandy Hall before the rain started, and comfortable and warm as the smial was in spite of the incessant and torrential downpour, and all the kind and cheerful hobbits that populated it, Sam didn't think he'd ever felt so alone.

He'd wrapped up what work he could do for the time being here in Buckland, and now he was supposed to be off home. Except that the rain had begun, and trapped him here.

He and Merry had spoken often these past several days, which had eased the burdens growing heavier and heavier on Sam's heart, and yet Merry was no replacement for Frodo. Sam wondered anxiously if Frodo was doing well, or if he'd come down with something during this rain, or one of his wounds was hurting him, or something else equally bad or even worse. Sam knew also that if he was this grieved for this lengthy parting, Frodo must be at least as such as well.

Sam trusted the Cottons implicitly, and he knew Frodo did as well – even if they weren't as well acquainted as the Gamgees were with the family – and Sam had insisted Folco Boffin (who had escaped the Scouring with little harm done to himself or his family in the whole process) visit Frodo when he could, and Fatty too, when his recovery allowed it. Sam wanted very much for Frodo to reestablish his connections in the Shire, even if most of the hobbits in it had no idea the depth and breadth of all he'd done and suffered.

That would change, someday, Sam decided, his pain steeling to resolve.

But he still hurt, bound up in this wonderful smial full of happy hobbits that didn't include him, listening to the unceasing drumming of the rain. He hoped Frodo was warm and as happy as he could be, and Sam looked at the rack on which he'd hung his coat in the room Merry had arranged for him.

Sam stood from the armchair he'd huddled himself in, his head pounding with how much he'd been crying recently, and with trembling fingers, pulled the envelope from the pocket and opened it, as if he were handling glass.

He sat back in the armchair with a thud, careful to keep his hands dry and the paper away from his tears, and began to read this gift from Frodo.

_My dearest Samwise,_

_ I've thought for a very long time about our world. About the depth of the earth, the spirit of the forests, the hearts of the creatures that live here, the turning of the tides and the changing of the skies._

_ Our world was made in a specific way for special reasons. Not everything worked out as everyone intended it to, and yet most everything in our world was made with a purpose._

_ I think my purpose, in the end, regardless of the other places fate has led me, is loving you. I like to think loving me is part of your purpose, or at least it comforts me when I know very soon you will be away for a long time. I hope you'll be thinking of me, and also that you won't even have to read this letter; I don't want you to miss me to the point of heartbreak._

_ I suppose if you're reading this, though, your heart is pained indeed, and I will do what I can to soothe it._

_ The earth was made to sustain us; the Sea to divide the Great from the Small in distance and mystery; Elves and Men and Dwarves, and even us, to make use of this world as best we may; and the sky to give us light, and to give us rest, and to give us guidance._

_ I think it's important we've all been put here, on this same world. On this same earth, beneath the same sky. We can't always see the same earth around us, but the sky is much more constant even if we're far apart. In the end, we see the same sun, and moon, and stars._

_ They were made to guide us, no matter the distance between ourselves and the place or person or thing we want to reach. We're all together so we might never be parted from one another for ever, not truly._

_ We can always get back. The moon and sun and stars tell us how to get to where we want to go. To whom we want to go. The person or place you want to reach is on the same earth you stand on; beneath the same sky. If you look up, and they look up, you'll see it's the same._

_ You need only move. The sky can take you there; the earth can take you there. You can take you there._

_ Distance and circumstance and time separate many things, but I think everyone in the world is part of a great river; we start out in smaller tributaries that may wander and wind for a long time, and join others along the way, and perhaps separate again to join others, but eventually, they will join every other in the greatest river, and together we flow down to the Sea, and are henceforth never parted._

_ Regardless of how the world sees fit to interfere, we'll be together again. We can reach one another, if we follow the paths before us that will take us there._

_ My heart and yours are tied together, I think. A bond forged by and with material and experience I believe no other has been before or will ever be again. It is like a string; flexible, long, able to stretch; but also it is stronger than _mithril_, for nothing in this world or beyond could sever it._

_ I hope that's another comfort to you, if you think the stars unreliable or the earth susceptible to shift. This bond between us covers any time and any distance. Wherever you are, I'm there with you, too, our bond and my part of it wrapped always around your heart, as yours is around mine; and that can guide you more assuredly than any star._

_ It doesn't change, no matter where you go – no matter how far you are from me – it's never hidden, never falters. Pull it taught, love, and keep pulling, letting it take you back to me._

_ There is a purpose in everything, ordained or chosen by ourselves. I know my purpose is loving you._

_ If the stars fail you; if the earth is unyielding; if your river will not bend; follow our bond. It will lead you to me. I am always here, pulling my end taught to guide you home._

_ Eternal and infinite love, and waiting always for you,_

_ Your Frodo_

Sam's care in protecting the letter was not misplaced. By the time he read his love's name at the end, he could see nothing except the blur of his rapidly-falling tears, and was forced to place the letter on the table next to him to keep it dry.

He wept with a deeper ache in his heart than he ever had. Part of him wondered in excruciating agony how in the world this was supposed to make him feel better; all it did was make the emptiness in his heart where Frodo was not widen and deepen exponentially.

Yet the other part of him understood this was a message directly from Frodo's heart to his.

It struck home, and he loved and missed and wanted to get back to Frodo, he felt, more than he ever had in his life.

He cried until he'd run out of tears, and his head ached to the point he wished he could still weep for the pain, there and in his heart.

He curled up in the armchair, wrapping a throw blanket desperately tight around him as the rain poured endlessly on, showing no sign of allowing him to return to Frodo any time soon.

Sam knew when he was with Frodo he would adore the letter. Now it only made him despondent and incapacitated with yearning.

He squeezed his eyes shut and realized that didn't help his aching head – but he didn't linger on the thought as he heard a knocking at his door. Blearily he looked over at it, confused on who would be asking for him at this time of night. “Eh?” he managed eventually, realizing too late this was an improper way to address gentry.

“Sam? It's Merry.” the speaker's voice was raised more than normal to be heard over the rain. “I just found something I thought you'd be interested in.” Sam stared feeling tired and stupid at the door for what felt to be a long time, and Merry eventually said, “I know it's late, and if you'd rather I brought this up later, I can come back.”  
“Nay,” croaked Sam, eventually coming back to himself, “come in.”

Merry did not come in immediately, perhaps contemplating the strain in Sam's voice, but shortly the door opened, revealing Merry holding a parcel against his chest. His brow shot up in surprise to see Sam, red-faced and puffy-eyed, huddled up on the chair. “Whatever's happened to you, my lad?!” he exclaimed.

Sam felt embarrassed, and his first instinct was to say, “Nothin'.” though he knew Merry would not believe that for a moment. In fact, Merry was more astute of the situation than Sam thought he could be (Sam's mind being addled with rather a bit), and spotted the letter almost immediately. “That's not bad news, I hope?”

Sam cleared his throat. “Nay, quite the opposite. T'is wonderful, just... sad.”

Merry closed the door behind him slowly. “A bit contradictory, perhaps? It's sent you into quite a state.”

“With good reason.” Sam managed as Merry took a few steps forward, looking unsure what to do with himself or the bundle he was carrying.

“Is it about Frodo? Nothing's happened, I hope?” Merry's voice was full of sudden concern, having espied Frodo's familiar script.

Sam shook his head, and winced painfully. “N-nay,” he managed, “naught's happened, though you might say it's about Frodo, bein' from him. T'is a love letter.”

“Is it?” Merry did not sound convinced. “I suppose only my cousin could make someone so distressed over a love letter, but-” Merry realized of a sudden he was sailing into waters he didn't have leave to enter, “well, Frodo's always had a way with words. I... I'm glad he's able to resonate with you so deeply. … And that you have one another at all.”

Sam nodded and sniffled. “Me too.”

“Oh! Are you all right, truly, Sam? You do look... distressed. You haven't got a headache, have you?”

“I'm fine enough to not be puttin' you up to trouble, Mis-”

“Don't start the 'Mister' business with me, Sam. You know we all went beyond that quite some time ago.” Sam sighed, abashed, and nodded. “Ah, but here I am harassing you. Really- you're not putting me out at all; hardly indeed. I want to talk about Frodo anyway, if you don't mind. Do you want some tea? I could brew some chamomile for your head.”

Sam was still reluctant to impose on Merry, especially when this was nearly his house, but couldn't stop himself from nodding, desperate for some form of relief.

“Back in a moment.” Merry set down his bundle – which was nondescript, save for it looked like some kind of colorful fabric, and was dusty – and disappeared out the door.

Sam studied the parcel for a few moments, before his eyes wandered to the letter again, and wondered if he could feel the taughtness of Frodo's pulling squeezing his heart tight.

Merry was true to his word and returned shortly after with a fully complemented tea tray, including some scones that had somehow survived in a massive smial full of hobbits to almost midnight. The aroma of the tea alone eased the throbbing in Sam's head, and he took a cup gratefully, savoring the warmth spreading through his fingers and hands as he held it.

“You holding up all right?” Merry asked eventually, stirring his tea. “I know nothing's been easy for any of us the past few months, especially for you and Frodo.”

Sam sighed wearily. “I've been gettin' on as I can. T'ain't easy, the work an' gettin' there an' doin' it all. Lots of folks to see an' explain to an' talk an' plan with. It's good work; wholesome, as me Gaffer might say. Leaves you tuckered by the end of the day, 'cause you been doin' so much.” Merry remained looking expectant, and Sam cleared his throat. “But I don't like bein' away from Frodo. This... I'm thinkin' is the first time n' more n' a year we been apart; really apart, you know.

“S'pecially after what we just come back from, it... First we was uprooted from our soil, then we was crammed in a pot that didn't fit – but we made do – an' we just got settled back into the ground, when all of a sudden we got torn apart again.” Sam looked sadly down at the depths of his tea. “Dunno who's been uprooted and stuck somewhere they ain't ought to be more, though.”

“It's probably about even.” Merry murmured. “You've both been through so much and had so much more asked of you on top of it. I'm glad you have one another, though I can only imagine what it must be like to have to be apart like this.”

“T'ain't pleasant.” Sam said dryly.

“I'm sorry.”

“Ain't nothin' you've done at all! Don't go takin' on. All this... t'is only what's got to be done after them ruffians and Sharkey.” Sam slumped in his chair, and sighed like a bellows. “I wish it weren't so, though.”

Merry tapped his teacup thoughtfully. “Knowing what I know, I don't think I'd want the Shire to go back to exactly the way it was before we left. As hard as it is to say or even think, in the end I think some sort of shake-up was for the best; I'm not certain anyone would've taken business in Gondor and Rohan and- everywhere else, and how that all affects the Shire, seriously, if they hadn't gotten a proper taste of it themselves. They might've laughed Aragorn out of the Farthings if he came to visit.”

Both shared a chuckle over the thought of the King of Gondor dressed in his finest armor, being run out of the Shire by a chorus of cackling and wheezing hobbits.

“But, even knowing that, I think there's a lot I'd give so the damage that was done... wasn't as severe. The severity is what's woken everyone up, but... now _we're_ the ones that have to fix it, or anyway that's how it feels.” It was Merry's turn to sigh as he leaned back and appeared to deflate. He shoved a scone in his mouth and munched on it thoughtfully. “Bitch of a situation we've found ourselves in.”

“Aye.” Sam raised his cup slightly in a toast of agreement. “You're right on that things wouldn't be as woken up now, an' chatterin' about a King an' Lady Galadriel's magic an' all, if this mess hadn't happened at the start. But havin' to be the ones that teach 'em all about it is cruel hard; I love my plants an' tendin' to 'em, but... I decided a while ago I didn't want no realm to look after. I just wanted my little garden. I know right where that is an' who it's with, but if I don't take care o' the realm, ain't nobody will; leastways not as well as I can. But mark me, I'd give it up in a moment if I could.”

Merry didn't say anything for a time, only looked at Sam and smiled with admiration. “The ferocity with which you hold your love and your duty both, no matter how one burdens you and parts you from the other, is truly aspirational, Sam. Frodo is tremendously lucky to have you.”

Sam turned red, and frowned a tight little frown, doing his best not to glare at Merry. “Ain't luck,” said Sam, “t'is only as he deserves, though often I don't think I'm enough for what he ought to have.”

“Not luck,” Merry amended, “but you are very worthy of him, Sam. Exactly so. A matched pair you are; one can't go without the other. Even to secret Council meetings.”

Sam made a choked noise while Merry chuckled, putting down his teacup in a rush to hide his face. “Mister Merry!” he scolded, “You ain't never gonna let me live that down!”

“No indeed, Sam. That's what friends are for.” Merry leaned on one arm rest, smirking, but no less sincere in his affection for his almost-cousin, though he ribbed him. “Oh, speaking of friends- a few days ago I was cleaning out a few closets (any hobbit knows with birthday presents and mathom-swapping, occasionally cleanouts of storage spaces are strictly necessary to keep enough room in a smial for a hobbit), and I found this in an old box that's... been there for a good few decades, I'm guessing.” he reached for the parcel set aside from the table, and unfolded it.

It was a blanket, Sam realized. A relatively small one; if Merry stood up and held it, it would run from the top of his chest down to the middle of his thighs. Though its size made the picture stitched together on it no less vivid for how small it was.

It consisted of nine individual squares, each depicting their own scene, of a small family of animals curled up together or caring for one another. A family of cats and kittens were asleep or being washed by a parent; a sleeping lamb was pressed against the fluffy wool of its mother; a stag touched noses with a fawn; a calf frolicked in a meadow with other cows; a mother dog barked in an excited chorus with her puppies; a family of birds soared in the air, singing and continuing the music notes sprawling from among the dogs; pigs and piglets rolled together in a mudpuddle; a family of fish with shining scales swam in single file to form a heart; and the center square was filled with small, quilted renditions of what Sam knew to be likenesses of Drogo and Primula Baggins, smiling with rosy cheeks and holding a babe in their arms, with dark hair and big blue eyes.

“I'd be a bit stupid to say it's anything other than Frodo's baby blanket.” Merry said eventually, once Sam had had time to look it over. “I've no idea how or why it's still here. It meant a lot to the Hall when it was made.” Merry turned the blanket over, then, and revealed each square had a stitched autograph from every person that had contributed to it. Aunts and uncles and cousins – even Master Saradoc, Mistress Esmeralda, and Bilbo (whose name was small, but there) – had all pitched in. In the center of the quilt, a red heart was stitched around 'Drogo + Primula: with love, for our Frodo'.

“... I heard eventually that Primula and Drogo... wanted children very badly, but had no luck, until Frodo finally came along as something of a miracle for them. My mother said the hall was overjoyed for them, and so almost everyone pitched in to help once Frodo was announced.

“I... I know as well, once Frodo's parents died... he had a lot of their things boxed up and put away for a long time. Some of them he eventually dug out when Bilbo adopted him, but others...” Merry held the blanket gently, it being older than himself, “Others he missed, I guess. His mother made lots of quilts, though; he might not have remembered this one at all.”

Sam was crying again, though silently, and without sobbing. “T'is a dear thing, an' no doubt.”

“I was wondering if you wanted to take it back to Frodo, when you left. I've been hoping it might help him, with all that's been going on recently.”

“Aye, I do. I think it will help, or at least... do sommat good. Thank you, Merry.”

“It's the least I can do, Sam. You're my friends, and I want to do whatever I can, even if it's just returning old blankets. … Let me know whenever I can do more.”

Merry handed the blanket to Sam, and he held it against his chest. “I will. An' you do the same for us.”

“You've got a deal, Master Gamgee.” A deal on which they shook.

The letter and the blanket both helped Sam immensely through the last few days of his parting from Frodo. Merry's words and friendship had been an enormous boon as well, and though Sam did miss Frodo terribly, the ache was no longer so painful.

He had had the blanket gently washed before he left – it was old, though lightly worn, and for that surprisingly sturdy for its age. He slept with it against his chest every night following that, and read the letter at least as often as he slept with the blanket.

The rain had subsided the day after Merry had given it to him, and two days after the ground was dry enough to make his way back home. He thanked Merry immensely for everything, and they parted well, Sam promising to take Merry and Pippin's regards to Frodo, as Merry would take Frodo and Sam's to Pippin.

The road home was less arduous than Sam had been expecting, but still he could hardly articulate his relief and joy to finally turn down South Lane and come in sight of the Cottons' farmhouse.

Formalities and proper conduct were mandatory in front of the Cottons, of course, but the moment Frodo and Sam were alone – which happened to be in their shared room – they started kissing passionately, and hardly stopped until they both lay panting on the bed, each in much more severe states of undress than when they'd entered. “I missed you terribly.” Frodo's smile had not worn away since Sam returned, and he traced vague patterns over Sam's heart with his finger.

“I know.” Sam rubbed Frodo's back, virtually melting to at last be back with Frodo. “I missed you awful much, too.”

“Did you read my letter?”

“Oh,” Sam sighed, shaking his head as he could against the pillow, “did I read it. Frodo Baggins, did I read it? Aye, that I did. Third night of that awful rain that swamped the roads; after that I cried so much it was almost as wet in my room as it were outside.”

Frodo's hand stilled. “Oh, Sam- I didn't mean-”

“It weren't bad.” Sam assured him, taking his hand and kissing the back and palm and knuckles. “It weren't bad at all. It just hit me in a soft spot that were all the softer 'cause I was missin' you so bad an' wantin' to get back so much, but I couldn't. Got to the point of a headache, even,” Frodo's face had fallen as Sam explained this, and so Sam kissed his hand again to reassure him, “an' then Merry came in an' helped set me to rights, in the end.”

“In the end? What did he do to you?”

“Showed his quality, your cousin did. Asked me what was the matter, an' I said, an' he went out an' brought back tea n' scones. We bitched for a while 'bout this mess we've all found ourselves in an' havin' to clean it up, an' agreed that it probably is for the better for the Shire, once you get down to it. An' also that me and you, we're a matched pair; not goin' nowhere without the other- even to secret Council meetings.”

Frodo burst into a fit of laughter, and Sam's heart sang to hear such a lovely noise. “Oh, Merry's dreadful. And right. And even worse _because_ he's right. … Ah, yes, dearest Sam. Not even Lord Elrond could keep you away.”

“Indeed not!” said Sam, quite proud of that. “Ah- but why Merry came in. That's awful important too. Half a minute.” and Sam got up from the bed, leaving Frodo curious and a little confused. From his luggage, Sam procured the carefully folded bundle, and presented it to Frodo, who sat up to receive it. “Them bonds you were talkin' about in your letter? There's a lot between us all, an' I don't think they ever go away.”

Frodo was the picture of confusion as his gaze slowly fell from Sam, and down to the blanket. Unsure, perhaps a little afraid, he unfolded it, slowly, understanding dawning on his face. “Oh,” he said after a very long time, having turned the blanket over once and then again, and he was crying. “Oh my.”

“Merry found it in a closet he was tidying up a week or two ago. He doesn't know how it got there, but he an' I are both glad he found it.” Sam ducked his head. “We hope you are, too.”

Frodo gathered the blanket against his chest, holding it dearly. “Yes,” he managed eventually, “I'm so very glad you did. I... I didn't remember this. I thought my first blanket- well, it was different and I have it. I didn't know...” Suddenly Frodo pulled Sam into a tight embrace, the blanket held between them. “Thank you so, so very much, Samwise. Merry too, perhaps even more, but... oh, this is... this is more dear than I can say. Thank you.”

Sam held him in kind, tightly. “I couldn't do a bit less for you.”

In time they rearranged themselves again more comfortably on the bed, Frodo snuggled against Sam with Sam's arm around him, and holding still the blanket against his chest. “I wouldn't want to call any other place than here, home.” he said at length, chest trembling with a sob he held inside. “There is so much love here, and it does last. Forever is a long word, but...”

“No longer than the bonds between us.”

“... No, not at all.”

Silence again, and the light began to fade as evening grew. “Sam?”  
“Mhm?”

“I'm so very glad I love you, and you come home to me.”

“I'm awful glad of the same. An' I don't just come home to you, Frodo; you _are_ home.”

Their shared tears eventually gave way to a deep, untroubled sleep, in the comfort of love that knows no end.


End file.
